Broken
by Tigers are forever
Summary: When Isabella Sanders' life is torn apart one horrendous evening, she doesn't know how she will cope. That is until she meets someone who seems to so precisely know what she's going through. Can he help Issy to put the pieces back together? Patrick/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so first story! It's going to be a pretty slow burner because I really don't see either character rushing into anything, but I do envision romance in the future! There will be a sequel which will be more Patrick/OC based but for the time being it's pretty much just about the OC, Isabella. As I've said it is my first story so pleaseee be kind, but I would love for people to review to let me know what you think of it and how to improve. I have written a fair amount so far but uploads will be quite few and far between because the chapters take me a long time to write and I'll be pretty busy with exams and such. So, yeah, I think that's pretty much it. It's set just before the end of series 3 but not really at any specific point. Sorry for the mammoth note, too. **

**Rated possibly over cautiously for dark themes. Italics mean flashbacks.  
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**I only own my characters and the stories that they're based in. Anything recognizable, sadly, doesn't belong to me.**

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"Put it back."

"But mom-"

"No buts. We've had enough animals in this house to start a zoo. No more, okay? And put you're shoes on or you'll be late."

Isabella Sanders was rushing around as usual at this time in the morning. Getting everyone ready on time to get where they needed to be was a full time job in itself, never mind her 9-to-whenever-the-hell-the-force-wanted-to-let-her -go gig. They worked her ragged but she loved her job and so was never able to complain too much about the long hours.

"Its the first day of term anyways, we never do work..." Samuel, the eldest of Isabella's two children at 8, muttered, clutching a toad tightly between two closed hands.

"He gets it from you, you know," Richard Sanders commented between sips of coffee, eyes never leaving his morning paper.

She rolled her eyes at the truth of this and continued to prepare her children's lunches.

"Mom, have you seen my-EEEKK!" A girl of 7 had descended the stairs and screamed, pointing with shaking fingers at her older brother, "He's doing it again! Tell him to stop!"

Sam had started to stuff the toad into a plastic container, "Lizzie you're such a tattle tale! What was I supposed to do? His leg is hurt, he'd never survive."

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at her brother, plonking a pink beenie over her blonde hair and hiding behind her mom with a squeal when Sam thrust the plastic towards her, knocking over a box as cereal as he did so.

"Stop it, both of you! Why can we never have a normal morning without arguments? And please, Rich, can you give me a hand here? For Christ's sake, I'm doing this all on my own!" Everyone was silent as she frowned at her husband.

"Sorry mom."

"Yeah, we're sorry. We'll clean it up."

Isabella sighed "No it's fine. Grab your lunches, you don't want to miss your bus." She waved her children off before they grabbed their coats and ran out of the front door. "Be safe you two and no more animals, okay Sam?"

"I promise!" He called back to her, running down the driveway with his younger sister in tow. He grabbed the beenie from Elisabeth's head and took off laughing. Her cries of indignation rang through the street as she failed to catch up to her brother.

The 32 year old woman shook her head and turned around to face her husband. He looked up at her from behind an extended cup of fresh coffee sheepishly and patted his lap.

She smiled at the gesture. "You know I don't drink coffee anymore. Not after I had Sam." Wafting away his outstretched hand and sitting on his knee she added, "I don't mean to get angry, it's just that the house is a mess and we have viewers coming over tomorrow. We're never going to get the house sold in the state it's in." She ran a hand through her shoulder length blonde hair.

"Iz, stop stressing out, it'll all be fine!" Richard recognised his wife's sign for worry and untangled her hand, kissing it before holding it gently. "We'll tidy up tonight for the viewing tomorrow. Push stuff into cupboards, hide stuff in the basement, you know the drill!" He grinned at her in an attempt to lighten her mood.

She smiled again at her husband of 10 years. He'd been handsome when they had first met at college over 14 years ago, but over the last half decade he had really grown into his looks. The boyish charm was still there but so were a few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His brown hair was well styled and no longer the mop of slightly curled madness it once was. He filled out his suit nicely, without being unbearably muscular, and would always go out of his way to help others. It was this along with many other qualities that had drawn Isabella to him all those years ago.

She got to her feet slowly and kissed her husband gently. "You're right, I do worry too much. I also need to get going, jeez, look at the time!"

She grabbed a slice of toast from the rack and held it in her mouth, zipping up her vest and then jacket. Just as she turned around to get her keys she remembered something. "Oh, and Si said something about coming round this evening. He didn't say what for but I'm sure we can rope him in to helping us with the cleaning."

Richard's face set. "Yeah, I'm sure we can if you ask him."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, Issy. He's been in love with you since high school, everyone can see it! The way he looks at you. Like you're some prize to be won."

"He's just a friend, Rich! I don't understand where all this jealousy comes from!" She glared at him, yanked her keys off of the holder and marched for the door. She looked back at him and told him to grow up before slamming the door loudly.

It was only a short ride to work, but it was long enough for her to start regretting the argument that had just taken place. When she was younger she was always told by people that she had a fire about her. It seemed that as she had aged the trait hadn't been lost, but subdued in motherhood. Her passion was something that had attracted her husband to her, as he had often told her, and was what had caused them to meet for the first time.

_It was an unseasonably warm day and many of the students were lazily dozing on the green or eating in any shade they could find. One young woman, however, was bustling around aimlessly, with one arm clutching too many books and the other a sheet of paper displaying her timetable. She was muttering to herself and shaking her head, angry at herself for not being more prepared, when she felt the impact of another person walking into her. She lurched forward with an "oof", spilling books and sheets of paper onto the cobblestones in front of her._

_"Hey, sorry about that! Guess I need to watch where I'm going." The boy knelt down and began to sort out the mess he had created, straightening his jacket as he did so. "Capital Punishment: A Balanced Explanation... Yikes"_

_"Yeah you do." Isabella replied angrily, snatching the book out of his hands, "Perhaps you should worry more about the death of the poor cow that you're wearing than my major." She gathered her papers together and stood up hastily, taking another pointless look at her timetable, then her watch with a sharp breath._

_"Let me guess, late for the Animal Rights meeting?"_

_The boy smirked at her and she sighed gritting her teeth._

_"That obvious?"_

_"Yeah. I'll take you if you want?"_

_She raised an eyebrow. "How would you know where it is?"_

_He held out one side of his jacket as if to show it off. "Faux leather. A few of my buddies went last year."_

_"Ah..." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to judge. I get a bit worked up when things don't go to plan."_

_He chuckled warmly. "I can tell! Well then, can't have you be any later can we? Puppies to save, monkeys to release! I'm Rich by the way. Richard Sanders."_

_He extended a hand and she took it after juggling her heavy book load._

_"Isabella Flynn. My friends call me Issy."_

_"Well then, Issy, it's very nice to meet you." He smiled cheekily and led her to the lecture room._

_Sitting on the grass about 50 meters away, unseen by the pair he had been watching, was Simon Parker, Issy's best high school friend. He seethed at the exchange and found himself ripping at the grass around him. This wasn't right. When she said she needed time to think that shouldn't mean she wanted to swan off with the first boy she met. She was his. And only his. And nothing would change that._

It was busy all day at work and so Isabella never found the time to ring her husband and apologise for her temper. And why should she? she reasoned with herself. Sure, she got a bit mad with him but this whole Simon thing was getting out of hand. He was her friend, her best friend. There was never anything between them and never would be. She loved Rich with all her heart.

"Hey Iz," someone called her name pulling her from the trance she was in. "You finish that filing the boss told you to?"

Isabella looked at the clock and her heart sank. 4:52.

"No. Shit, that was for today?"

The sympathetic look in the man's eyes told her what she already knew. She ran a hand through her hair. "I'll never get it all done in time."

"Sorry, Issy, you know I'd stay to help but Sandra came down with something yesterday and I gotta look after the kids."

"Yeah I know you would, Frank. I appreciate it but I don't expect you to stay. Go home, and send Sandy my best won't you?" She said with a reassuring smile.

"Yeah will do. Good luck!" He said with a wave. She shook her hand in his general direction and huffed out a breath at the enormity of the task at hand.

3 long hours later, everything was done. Her desk was neat and tidy for the first time in a long while. She gathered her things hastily and grabbed the locking up keys. She hated being anywhere on her own at night, which was probably pretty irrational since nothing had ever sprung out and attacked her. She supposed most fears were like that though. Regardless, she still tiptoed through the dark to the security guard, Joey. They were on good terms which most likely was a result of how often she stayed late. She handed him the keys with a tired smile and made her way to her car, shoulders hunched and alert for danger. She jumped at a noise to her right. She readied herself to scream when Joey came into clearer view, brandishing her car keys. Her heart raced and she lashed out to hit him.

"Don't do that to me!" She shouted as Joey chuckled lightly to himself, rubbing his chest and pretended he'd been hurt.

"You gave me the wrong keys ya goof."

She snatched them out of his hands with a scowl. "You're such an ass! How'd you manage to sneak up on me anyway?"

Joey stood at nearly a foot taller than Issy, which was not unimpressive considering she was 5 7". She dug around her bag, uncovered the correct keys and gave them to Joey. They said goodbye once more and Isabella began the journey home. The roads were pretty quiet at this time, so she made it home sooner than usual. As she turned onto her road she noticed Simon's silver jeep. Of course! She'd forgotten all about him coming over tonight. She rushed through the front door to greet him and apologize to her husband for for how late she was.

"Rich! Simon?" She called, muting her voice to avoid waking the kids and dropping her jacket and keys on the breakfast table.

The house was shrouded in darkness and she could make out only basic shapes. She peeked into the dark living room and could see no human shapes in the unlit room. Frowning, she turned to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. She pushed the door to Lizzie's room open and found it empty, then succeeded to do the same with Samuel's with no more luck. Panic had begun to set in. Where on earth where they? She rationalized that they must all be in the master bedroom. Right? Yeah. Watching a kids film, making the most of bossy mom being away and staying up late. She readied herself to scold her husband and Simon for being in cahoots and pushed the handle down.

The door swung open of its own accord. All four windows were wide open with curtains billowing, bringing in gusts of freezing January wind.

It took a while to register the horror in the room. Her breathing hitched and she began to shake uncontrollably. Her husband was sat slumped against the wall, head lolling and lifeless. Blood covered his once crisp, white shirt and soaked into the green carpet, creating a dark pool around him. Elizabeth, her baby Lizzie, lay on the floor as though asleep. Blonde, curly hair framing her delicate face. A red stain grotesquely spread across the bear face that brandished her pale t-shirt. Sam was sprawled on his front across the carpet at an awkward angle, brown hair stuck to his scalp with blood. Time stood still.

A shadow shifted in the corner of the room and Isabella's eyes were reluctantly drawn to the moving shape.

"Finally. I thought you might never show! Hah, well no harm done, you're here now. Whuddya think?"

Simon held his arms apart, signalling his work, a crazed look in his eye. A strangled sound escaped her. He noticed the lack of emotion that he expected-happiness, of course!-and frowned, tilting his head sideways.

"What's wrong? Its perfect! We can start afresh! No kids, no Richard to worry about. Just me and you!" He grinned maniacally and reached out his hands to grab hers. It was here that she really noticed him. Hands stained and crusty with dry blood, red hand prints adorned his jeans, face hollow and haggard.

"W...what?" She struggled with the words. Her voice sounded foreign to herself.

"I did it! At last! I got Richard first, the asshole. He didn't expect it, see, so he was stuck before he knew it. It slowed him down so it didn't take long to finish him off. Sammy was brave. It was really a shame to have to have to kill him. Lizzie was bawling and wailing over Rich, causing such a noise so I had to shut her up, but Sam wouldn't let me. Shielded her with his body, even when faced with a knife!"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. They must be alive. It was all just a joke, it must be. Any second now, Lizzie would sneeze and Sam would tell her off for ruining the joke and Richard would jump up with a sachet of fake blood and hug her in apology for the cruelty of the whole thing. She ran for them, hoping against all odds that her fantasy was true, or at least that they were asleep or in a coma or that the blade had missed vital organs or anything, just anything, that meant her world wasn't torn apart.

"Hey, they're dead, okay? Nothing you can do now. And we can be together. At last. Like we've always wanted!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him.

"Get off me! Get off, you monster!" Isabella jerked and twisted in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.

"Well that's not very nice, considering I did this for you." He said, clutching her even tighter.

"You disgusting, horrid, evil-" Isabella flew backwards from the force of the back of Simon's hand.

She took the opportunity to crawl over to her family and touch each of them in turn, body lurching with tearless sobs.

"How dare you." Simon said, shivering with anger and injustice. "All my life I've watched you, waiting for this; waiting for us to be together. Now, I've given us this opportunity and you throw it back in my face? I don't think so!"

He grabbed her arms and pulled her backwards off of the floor, holding her to face him at arms length. The crazed looked had left him and was replaced by a look of pure disgust. Fury radiated from him and she flinched away from the man she once knew. He threw her onto the bed and followed her. She lay there, helpless and undefended. Broken.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is up a lot earlier than I had planned to put it up kind of because I realized that it's supposed to be a Mentalist fic and as yet has nothing to do with the Mentalist, so early update! It's also pretty short so I'm sorry about that, but I think they kind of get longer after each chapter sort of. Thanks for the two favorites (they made me very happy) and I've been trying to add in little references to previous episodes, so I wonder if anyone will spot them? I hope so! Also, that last chapter was pretty much as dark as it will get for a while, so I don't know if my rating is a little high? Please let me know if you think it is.  
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"What do we have here then?" Agent Lisbon asked the chief officer at the scene. It was a quiet, suburban area; not necessarily your typical murder scene but often the result of passionate crimes.

"Multiple homicide. Male, 33, and two children. Found by an estate agent and prospective buyers just after 10 o'clock. Boy, I bet that was a surprise. Talking about the neutral wall color and then, bam! Dead bodies." He chuckled to himself.

Lisbon ignored the man's lack of tact. "Jane, are you coming in or not?"

Patrick Jane poked his head through the door and scanned the room. "Messy," he observed, more to himself than anyone else. He walked into the kitchen, crunching over spilt cereal, opened the fridge and looked inside.

"There's an ambulance outside, but I don't really understand it's purpose. The stiffs are long dead, have been for half a day, if you're to believe the coroners. For the wife, maybe," the man mused whilst flicking through paperwork, "Isabella Sanders. She's upstairs."

Jane responded to this, looking around the fridge door swiftly to address the chief. "She's in the room?"

"Yeah, and she won't move for anything. I mean, the rooms freezing up there. Good for preserving the bodies I guess... Oh, and she won't let any of the examiners go near her. Hasn't said a peep when we've been there."

Jane advanced on him. "How long has she been up there?"

"Uh..." The officer flicked through a file, "according to neighbor statements they saw her return home at around 8.30 PM."

"Why were we not told this?" Lisbon demanded.

Jane left the man babbling to cover himself and bounded up the stairs to the crime scene.

He'd seen many in his time as a consultant, but those involving children were always some of the worst and this case was particularly gruesome. Bloody hand prints slid down the cream walls, bedsheets were kicked back and covered with transferred blood and four bodies were at the back of the room. Three of which were clearly deceased while the fourth was huddled in a ball, head down and hands clutching her legs tightly. A uniformed police officer was knelt next to her, whispering. He touched her arm reassuringly and she visibly tensed. He stood up stretching, sighing with a shake of his head.

"Nothing. She's been unresponsive since we arrived," he reported to another officer.

Jane marched over to the woman, undeterred by the officer's calls that it was useless, and crouched in front if her. "Hi, I'm Patrick Jane. I work for the California bureau of investigation. I understand the pain you're going through and I can tell you now, that pain will never go away."

"Jane!" Lisbon scolded having heard his words after entering the room.

Patrick silenced her with a wave. He reached out to touch her hand and nearly flinched at the icy temperature of them. It was as though this action reawakened her. The woman raised her head slowly to reveal hollow eyes and shallow, translucent skin. Her lips held a faintly blue hue and goose pimples raised on her skin. She began to tremor slightly and Patrick could feel her heart rate increase through the hand he now held.

She blinked a few times and looked around the room at the people in it, finally settling on the man in front of her. He had soft eyes, aged beyond their years with grief, and the kind of haggard features she expected herself to have at this moment.

He spoke kindly to her, "It will never go away, but you will learn to manage it."

"We need a paramedic in here!" One of the officers called as Isabella was helped to her feet by Patrick, shaking violently. She couldn't hold her own weight, so Patrick supported her until the paramedics arrived to take her to the ambulance. Isabella turned back to Patrick with wide, terrified eyes. He assumed that she would quickly return to the comatose state of before and followed them down the stairs with Lisbon hot on his heels.

"Where are you going? We haven't even examined the scene yet!" she called after him.

"I've seen everything I need to." He replied without looking back at her. "I'm gonna ride to the hospital, I'll meet up with you later."

She raised her arms exasperated and returned to the house to see what she else she could uncover.

Jane only left Isabella when she was being examined which had been shortly after she'd been brought into the hospital. When she'd been given a place as the single occupant in a room, she fell into a restless sleep at Jane's command. The walls were the sickly green color always associated with hospitals, with dull blinds adorning the windows and the smell of antiseptic covering the room. She was hooked up to a monitor which beeped steadily and was covered in woolen blankets to try to maintain her temperature. Her eyelids fluttered and eyebrows knitted together at an unseen horror. Patrick sat at her bedside frowning, head resting on top of joined hands. There was a knock and Jane turned to face Lisbon who hovered at the door, beckoning with a jerk of her head. He joined Lisbon, the chief officer and a doctor outside.

"So what's the damage?" asked the officer, chewing gum with his mouth wide open.

"She appears to have contracted mild hypothermia, there shouldn't be any lasting damage since her core temperature didn't drop too much. There's also some evidence of sexual assault." The doctor said somberly.

"I reckon she did it." The officer announced. "Bad day at work, came home, took it out on the family, you see it all the time. Just another crazy chick."

Jane had had enough, and stormed towards the man, furious. "Okay, you've consistently aggravated me and I've just let it go, but enough. Her family has been murdered and she has been raped, and you think that, what, she did that to herself? You have no idea what that woman has gone through, but why would you? 50 years old and still living with your mother? Other than the discontinuation of a Buffy comic you've never known tragedy."

The man spluttered in front of him. Lisbon sighed, knowing better than to stop Jane when he got like this.

"Don't think I don't know about that little fetish you have. That whole creepy, vampire-necrophilia thing. I'd bet my last dime that you had an obsession with Richard Trenton Chase as a kid, you sadistic sociopath."

Lisbon looked awkwardly at her feet while the officer still struggled with his words, opening and closing his mouth numerous times. Jane raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well, then, I'll leave you to it." He said, embarrassed. His face reddened and, defeated, he turned away from the party, taking the elevator to the bottom floor.

"When can we speak to the patient?" Lisbon asked the doctor, trying to ignore what had just happened.

He shook his head in apology. "Not until tomorrow morning I'm afraid, she's missed out on a lot of sleep and we have a few further tests to run. We'll need to monitor her overnight to make sure that she remains stable."

Lisbon thanked the man and the duo turned to leave, taking the stairs to ensure avoiding another confrontation.

"You really think she didn't do it?" Teresa asked.

"I know she didn't." Jane replied. "She doesn't have it in her."

"And you can tell that by...?" Lisbon prompted. When Patrick merely shrugged she added. "She's still a suspect, though, you realize that?"

"Yes, of course. But she didn't do it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Another short one I'm afraid but I am pretty sure that they get longer after this one! I hope that people are enjoying this so far, and if not maybe tell me why? Please? I'll try to update sooner considering it's only small!  
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Jane and Lisbon arrived at the hospital early the next morning to interview Isabella Sanders. They were told by a doctor that she had, thankfully, remained in a fairly stable condition overnight and that provided she take care in the future she would recover with no further problems. Lisbon found no reason to warn Jane to be careful as he was so obviously sure she wasn't the culprit and, having been through something similar himself, he would already know how to handle the situation. Jane knocked and they entered the room cautiously to find Isabella starring blankly at the wall opposite her. The television was on but given her current state Patrick was sure she couldn't hear the noise. He cleared his throat, causing Isabella to blink a few times and turn get head towards the detectives. She tried to smile. The pair acknowledged this and smiled back, taking this as acceptance and sitting down by her bed.

"I'm agent Lisbon, and this is Patrick Jane. We have a few questions to ask you, if you feel up for it?" Lisbon asked gently.

Isabella nodded once.

"What time did you return home last night?"

"About," Isabella croaked, and cleared her throat before continuing, "about eight thirty."

After hearing her speak it occurred to Jane that the woman probably hadn't spoken since the incident happened over 36 hours ago.

"And what did you find when you came home?"

"Everyone was upstairs. I couldn't find them at first, but then I found them in the bedroom." Isabella had returned to staring at the wall as she spoke, eyes glazed and face expressionless.

"When you say everyone, who do you mean?" Lisbon asked, careful not to push the woman too far.

"My husband, my children." Isabella paused for a second. "And Simon."

"Who is Simon?" Lisbon frowned, not remembering his name from any of the papers she'd been given.

"Parker. Simon Parker." Her breathing hitched and she frowned slightly.

Patrick touched Lisbon's hand and motioned for her to leave.

"That will be all for now, thank you for your time and we'll get back to you with any information we have shortly. We will have to ask you to come to the office and make a formal statement soon, just so you're aware."

Isabella didn't respond, not out of rudeness but because her mind was already somewhere else. Lisbon stood and made to leave the room, noticing Jane had remained seated. She left him there, hoping that perhaps he could get find out more information.

Once the other agent had left the room, silence fell on the two remaining. It wasn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful.

"I haven't cried yet." Isabella stated. She glanced quickly at the man and then steadied her gaze at her hands on her lap, as though too ashamed to maintain eye contact. "I saw my husband and children dead on my bedroom floor and I... I haven't cried yet. How horrific is that, that I could cry about an underfed animal on tv and yet when it comes to my family, my family, being murdered I can't shed a single tear. I'm disgusting."

"Isabella-"

"Issy," the woman corrected automatically, before scolding herself with a shake of her head.

"Issy," Jane started again, "do not blame yourself for what has happened."

She scoffed at his words but he continued.

"I know, I didn't listen either."

This caught her by surprise. She looked at the man, confused.

"The tears will come. Believe me." He told her sincerely. "And if you want me to, I can be there so it doesn't hurt as much when they do. I know it helped me to have somebody there."

He reached out to hold her hand and she smiled more sincerely this time.

"Thanks."

The following week passed in a blur, not quickly or slowly, just as though it were a dream. Her colleagues came to visit Isabella not long after she'd been questioned to let her know that they'd be there for her and that their doors were always open. She acknowledged the thought with thanks, but informed them that she would most likely be moving away shortly, as she would be unable to go anywhere without a constant reminder of her pain and suffering. Her boss pondered this sadly, and told her that he would sorely miss her but that he understood, and that he'd write her a brilliant reference. He joked lightly that he had pull, guaranteeing that said reference, having come from him, would get her a job anywhere she wanted. Even at this point, saying goodbye to some of the best friends she'd ever made, she was unable to cry.

She left the hospital later that day, in borrowed clothes that didn't fit her properly, and stood outside, lost. She couldn't go home, that was unthinkable at the moment. She had never known her father, but had known that he was "a useless, no good, son of a bitch" as he was often called when her mother had drunk too much at weddings or Christmas. She had died during Isabella's time in college, horrific in its entirety, but it had brought herself and her husband together and was one of the defining reasons they had to marry. As for Richard's parents, they and her had never seen eye to eye. They disliked her "hippy" attitude to life and constantly insisted, not in secret, that Richard could do far better than Isabella. She had no siblings to turn to, and Richard's only brother was a deadbeat alcoholic living with his mother and father. So what could she do?

A motel was her first, and only, thought. She could stay there until she got her thoughts together. She hailed a cab and got in, carrying only her mobile phone and purse which the police officers had kindly thought to collect for her.

"Where to, sweetheart?" The cabbie asked. He was a big guy, with 5 o'clock shadow and a round face and body that was the result of sitting down for most of his life.

"Wherever the nearest motel is."

Everything was beginning to feel real. She had no home, not anymore. No place that held such pain and misery could ever be regarded a home. She had been informed a few hours prior that the funeral would be held the following day by Richard's mother's brisk voice. She understood. No mother should outlive their son, or daughter for that matter, and she knew the effects of this first hand.

The journey was short and painless, with the man realizing that she was uninterested in conversation.

"There y'are sweetheart, took ya to a slightly nicer place a few miles further, no extra cost." He winked at her kindly. "I can tell you've had it tough, last thing you need is the stain covered mattress and leaky roof of some of those sleazy places."

She thanked him and tipped him a few bucks, slammed the door shut and watched him drive away. She made her way to reception, paid for the night, received her key and made her way to her allocated room. It was nothing special, but for the price she couldn't complain. She shrugged off her baggy clothes, deciding to sleep in her underwear, and rolled into bed early. The humming of a generator could be heard as Issy lay with her eyes wide open. She closed them after what had seemed like an eternity, still thinking about how this would be the first time she would sleep without her husband at her side for over 10 years, and cried herself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I got my first review! Yay! I can't believe how happy it made me, so thank you very much DontCryCrazy because you totally made my day. I'm so glad that you've read and seem to have enjoyed my story so far! You inspired me to upload quicker!  
**

**Oh and I've realized that I haven't put a disclaimer in a while (oops). Not sure if I'm meant to for every chapter but I'll throw one in here anyways. I don't own anything created by Bruno Heller, just my original characters and the storyline I guess.**

**Thanks for reading people and hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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The funeral was planned for 12 o'clock. Isabella woke early and left the motel temporarily to purchase something to wear, considering the only clothes currently had on her were the ones on her back. She decided on the first item she could see in her size. The day wasn't about her. It was about her family, and she didn't care what she looked like. She returned to the motel to shower quickly and change, before calling for a cab. She knew that she would arrive early, but decided that she needed time alone with Richard and Sammy and Elizabeth before everybody else turned up. She needed to say goodbye before she could brave the flock of people smiling sympathetically and apologizing for her loss.

Issy met with the priest conducting the ceremony and he allowed her access to the coffins, understanding her situation and becoming the first of many to offer their condolences that day. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful for their thoughts, it was just that she didn't deserve them. They shouldn't be saying sorry to her, she should be to them.

"Hey." Issy said to her family. Now that she was here she was unsure of what to say. It wasn't as though they could hear her. She was never the religious type like Richard's parents, blatantly stating at her grandmother's funeral when she was a child, "if granny's in heaven, then why would people be sad?" She had since emotionally matured, but was still uncomfortable with the idea of religion. If anything, her bereavement had made her beliefs stronger. If there was a God, why had He not taken her instead? Why were her children not running around, teasing each other? Why were they not, on this cold January day, huddling together by the fire, Lizzie trying on her Christmas clothes and Sam begging to bring some other exotic creature into the house? Why was her husband not sat in his chair, reading the paper and completing the crossword? Instead, they were dead. Lifeless inside tasteless wooden caskets. She sighed, left the room and was directed to the site of the burial. She noticed that Rich's parents had arrived and were walking towards her.

"Isabella." Richard's mother, Helen, said curtly.

"Mr and Mrs Sanders." Issy had never felt comfortable calling Helen or her husband, Thomas, by their first names, and they had never asked her to.

Helen looked Issy up and down before asking, "how are you doing? You look awful."

Issy looked down at herself, knowing that in reality the woman had meant her hollow expression and sunken cheeks.

"Fine, thank you."

Helen looked at Isabella sceptically and walked to the entrance of the cemetery to begin greeting mourners. Thomas smiled at her sadly, with a little more friendliness than his wife had shown, before following Helen. She had gotten on with Tom better than Helen, who seemed to dominate any arguments they had had while her husband stayed in the background. To her understanding, he didn't hold the animosity that his wife did toward her, but, this being the case, she would have appreciated some support from time to time.

She noted that Peter, Richard's older brother, had not yet arrived but hoped that he would. She had always liked Peter, enjoying his dry sense of humour that seemed to pass others by. He had been sporty as a child, set to play at least semi-professionally in numerous different sports, including baseball, football and soccer. He damaged his knee during a bad tackle one game and despite a speedy recovery had never been the same since. He'd relied on a career involving sport, gaining mediocre grades at best, and so when they all dropped him without a second glance he had been distraught, turning to drink and drugs. He wasn't stupid by any means, just not book smart. Peter had gone from Helen and Thomas' dream child to an utter nightmare in the space of a few months and had always been something of an embarrassment of theirs. She and Richard had helped him out where they could, but he had been set on self-destruct for the past decade and there was only so much they could do.

People began to gather around the grave, looking at her oddly, not that Issy particularly noticed. She had her own thoughts to deal with, and cared little if at all about what others thought.

"They think you did it, you know."

Patrick had appeared beside her.

"I did." Issy admitted. "Not directly but it was my fault. I might as well have held the knife."

He nodded at this, his mind elsewhere.

"I know why you feel that way, but you shouldn't. There was no way of knowing that your friend would do this."

So they'd done research on her. She wasn't surprised, she expected it in fact, being in the line of work that she was. Isabella found Patrick's company therapeutic. She wasn't sure why; perhaps it was that he knew what to say and when, or the fact that he had obviously gone through a similar ordeal to her. Maybe it was that when he was around she could forget, even if just for a second, that she was alone in the world. Regardless, she trusted him, and considering her trust was a difficult things to win under these circumstances, this was something of a miracle. They were silent as more people filled the area, nodding or smiling at Isabella to acknowledge her. She appreciated that they didn't come over to talk to her, because what would she say? Not to worry, that she would be fine? The statement would be false and no one would believe it anyway.

"Richard always hated him. I should have taken notice."

The ceremony started and Issy looked around at the gathering. There was an incredible turn out, including people that worked in Rich's office, Lizzie and Sam's friends and parents and some of Issy's colleagues. She particularly appreciated their turn out considering the weather, which was poor with strong winds and a real chill in the air. Issy shivered involuntarily and Patrick wandered off towards the car park. She found this strange, assuming that he had come to ask her more questions and that he would wait until after the ceremony to do so. She tried to focus on the words of the priest but found it difficult. In times of trauma, she remembered, people were supposed to find refuge in religion. This was not the case for her. In fact, she almost wanted to run up to the priest and shout to the people there that in fact her family were not going to Heaven, nor Hell for that matter, and that God would not protect them. God could do nothing more for them now than He could a week ago, when they were healthy and happy and alive. She held her tongue, but couldn't manage to do the same with her tears which had begun to flow freely at the finality of the event.

Patrick returned not long after he had left, coat in hand. She frowned at this, recognizing the coat she had purchased that summer in the sale in anticipation for a bitter winter. He handed it to her, whispering that he'd explain later, and resumed his position next to her. Bewildered, she put the coat on and caught her mother-in-law's eye, whose face had twisted to an angry scowl. Isabella looked away quickly.

The caskets were lowered and the ceremony was drawing to a close, and Issy continued to cry silently as she said her final goodbyes. Never again would she kiss her husband, or hug her children, or tell them she loved them. The gathering began to disperse and Isabella glanced up to see Helen marching towards her.

"You disgusting whore!" She exclaimed, slapping Isabella across the face. She flinched backwards, raising a hand to hold the quickly reddening side of her face. "My son is not yet cold and you're sleeping around with this... this man!"

People had begun to stare and whisper to each other rather than make their way to the car park.

"I... I'm not!"

"Don't lie to me! What would he be doing with your coat if you weren't? You never were good enough for my son. I wouldn't be surprised if you were the one who killed him, to make way for your new man." Furious tears now ran down Helen's wrinkled cheeks, and she regarded Isabella with such utter fury that it struck her with even more force than the slap.

"Oh, shut up mom." Peter staggered towards them, slurring and holding a half empty bottle of vodka in his hands. "This so isn't about you, it's about your son. The dead one. The one you said should have been me. Yeah, I heard that. God, you think I'm the embarrassment and look at yourself. Iz has had her life torn apart and you can't even find it within yourself to be nice. You make me sick."

A crowd had gathered, watching the event unfold, and Helen stood shocked, unsure of what to say or do. She hated to be shown up or be a part of anything improper, so this must have been torturous for her. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly away from the trio, Thomas following as quickly as he could behind her.

Issy sighed. "Hey, Peter. How're you doing?"

"Shit. Yourself?"

"Same."

She indicated that she wanted the bottle and he handed it over. She unscrewed the top, held it upside down until she had drained it and handed it back.

"Gee, thanks Iz."

"Don't mention it. Now go sober up." She hugged him forcefully, and he returned it happily, united in grief and sorrow.

"Picked the wrong day for a pep talk." He muttered as he stumbled away.

Issy's eyes followed him, concerned.

"Don't worry about him. Just concentrate on yourself." Patrick told her.

"Easier said than done. And how did you get my coat?" She glanced up at him frowning.

Patrick reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a set of car keys. He handed them to her, and she recognized the plush frog that Sam had bought her one Christmas, a 'worlds best mom' key ring and another from the university she and her husband had attended, that he'd bought her as a cheesy valentines day gift one year.

"I went to your house this morning and collected some of your things so that you wouldn't have to go to the house. I brought your car round too."

"Oh. Thanks." Issy said, confused that anybody would go to so much trouble for her.

Frank and his wife, Sandra, were walking towards them. Sandra pulled Issy into a warm hug and whispered comfortingly into her ear. She felt slight under Issy's arms, much skinnier than she had remembered her being, and spent a second wondering if she'd been dieting recently before the thought left her. She found this happened to her often recently, as though no ideas could manage to latch themselves onto her grieving mind.

"I'm gonna miss you Iz." Frank said, smiling softly.

"Yeah, me too."

She said goodbye to Frank, promising that if she ever need anything that she'd ring or visit, and he and Sandra left the cemetery.

Issy sighed shakily, looking towards the car park.

"You will still have to come onto the office to make a formal statement, but don't feel in any rush." Patrick told Issy.

"I'll just come today. I have nothing else to do." She said it because it was the truth, not because she wanted any sympathy.

Patrick nodded. "Sure. I'll see you later, then."

He left, leaving Issy to her thoughts. She couldn't spend another night in this city, let alone that motel, so she figured she might as well head to Sacramento sooner rather than later. The drive might help to clear her head, anyway. She glanced back at the fresh graves a final time, and made her way to her car. She lifted the trunk and observed the possessions that Patrick had collected for her. There were suitcases worth of stuff, from bundles of clothes to picture frames. The pain was still too fresh to look back over a life that would never be hers again, particularly after she had just buried the subjects of her memories, and so she slammed the trunk shut forcefully.

She got into the drivers seat and just sat, clutching the wheel with tight, white fists. She tried to regulate her breathing which had hitched since observing her things, darkness threatening to envelop her. A weight stood heavy on her chest. Issy held her head in her hands as it started to sway, lightheaded and foggy, and her stomach clenched as she resisted the urge to throw up. She gulped down air and closed her eyes tightly as she waited for the world to right itself. Opening her eyes cautiously, she knew that she had been a little optimistic; the world would never be so kind as to right itself in the way that she wanted it to. Finally, as the panic within her started to subsided and, she realized now, she had come to terms with the death of her family, she starting the long drive to begin her new life.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey anyone that's reading this. Again, this is a bit earlier than I was going to so the next one probably won't be for a little while, sorry! I never thought I'd be one to beg for reviews, but I am slowly getting to that point, so please? Even if it's just a few words to say what you'd change or anything, I'd really appreciate your time. Hope you enjoy it.  
**

**Oh, and also I think when converting these over it took out the breaks between the chapters, and I'm not quite sure how to go back and change that, so I'm just going to try to be more careful about adding them in in the future. Thanks!**

* * *

_"One date! "_

_"No!"_

_"Just one date and I'll change your mind, I promise."_

_Richard Sanders stood slouched against a wall, full of the arrogance of youth, a smile adorning his handsome face. Isabella was unconvinced._

_"I have far too much to be doing. I can't afford to be spending time going out on dates when I have so many assignments." Issy said shaking her head._

_"Bella-"_

_"Ew, don't call me that."_

_"Bella." Richard insisted with a grin. "Please. One chance?"_

_He pouted and tilted his head to the side. Issy sighed and conceded._

_"Fine. One! But that's it!"_

_"Knew you'd come round babe. I mean, how could you deny a face as pretty as this?" Rich winked and sprinted off, leaving Issy shaking her head with an undeniably pleased smile tugging at the corners of her lips._

* * *

It took several hours for Isabella to arrive at the bureau of investigation in Sacramento and by the time she did she had started to feel nervous. She wasn't sure why, but, she reasoned, perhaps it was the thought of having to defend herself over something that ultimately was her fault. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of lavender from the air freshener that had Richard consistently supplied for her since he'd found out it was her favorite scent during their first months together, and got out of the car. She made her way into the building and asked at the reception where she would find the serious crimes department. She made her way to the correct floor and was greeted by a tall man with a kind smile. He introduced himself as agent Wayne Rigsby and showed her to an interview room.

Patrick Jane lay on his couch, staring intently at the ceiling. It made sense that this Simon had committed the murders. Interviews had revealed that they had been school friends but that Simon had always seemed to have wanted more than that. He was quite clearly obsessed with Isabella and Jane deduced this was something that he had been planning for quite some time. Perhaps the move, made evident to Jane by the presence of the estate agent, had lit the fuse? Difficult to say for certain until more details had been revealed.

"Jane?" Lisbon called his name breaking him from his thoughts. "Sanders is here. She's waiting in interview room one, if you wanted to watch."

He sprang to his feet and followed Lisbon to the room.

"No funny business, okay?" Lisbon turned to face Jane before entering the room. "She is still a suspect regardless of your opinion."

"Sure thing." Jane reached passed her to open the door, gesturing for her to enter first.

Unconvinced she shook her head but walked into the room regardless.

Issy offered a small smile to the two sitting in front of her.

"We just have a few questions to answer, Mrs Sanders." -Issy flinched at the title- "Please try to answer them as honestly as you can so that we can find who did this as soon as possible."

Issy nodded, "Of course." She was familiar with the procedure.

"All of this is just a formality, we know you're innocent."

"Jane!"

"Okay, I know you're innocent. The others need more evidence." He shook his head as if the idea was preposterous.

Lisbon chose to ignore this outburst, as she found herself doing on numerous occasions with Jane, and instead addressed Isabella.

"On the morning of the crime, neighbors said they heard some disturbances. Raised voices, doors slamming. What were you arguing about?"

"Richard never liked Simon," Issy started. Her heart rate increased and she clenched her fists at the memory. The memory of her and her husbands last few moments together. "I told my husband that he was wrong about him. But he wasn't wrong at all."

"You told us previously that when you came home on the night if the incident you found Simon in your bedroom. Could you tell us anything about that; what he was wearing, what you spoke about? Maybe where he might have gone?" Lisbon prompted gently.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember what he was wearing. And most of his family are local, he's barely been out of the state before," Issy said, shaking her head and looking at her hands, "He told me that he'd done it for us. That... that we could be together now."

"And... is that what you wanted?"

Isabella's head shot up, raw anger on her face for the first time since she had last seen Simon. "No! How could you suggest that?"

"We have to ask these questions, it's part of the investigation," Lisbon said, holding an apologetic look.

Issy's face softened as quickly as it had changed. "I know, I'm sorry. I know you have to."

"And finally, we have to ask," Lisbon added hastily, already uncomfortable about what she was about to ask, "we found DNA samples under your finger nails and... elsewhere. We've ruled out your husband as the source. Do you know who it belongs to?"

Isabella couldn't meet the detectives eyes. Embarrassment and guilt flooded through her. The deep, sickly feeling she had had in her heart since that night managed to cause her even more pain, enveloping her. She wasn't strong enough for this. "Yes." She struggled through the words. "Simon. It... there wasn't consent." She frowned down at herself and concentrated on keeping her breathing even.

Lisbon and Jane looked at each other.

"That's all for now. Thank you for your time, Mrs Sanders. We would encourage you to stay in town, just in case we have any follow up questions to ask you."

Lisbon's tone was soft, yet professional, and for that Isabella silently thanked her. She didn't need patronizing, she needed to overcome this, however impossible that seemed to her at the time, in her own way.

Isabella got to her feet with the agent and consultant, still looking down.

"We'll be in touch with any new information as soon as we get it."

Isabella said her thanks and left the room, heading for the lift and completely unsure of where to go now. Just as the doors to the lift began to close, Patrick jumped in beside her.

"Hi." He smiled at her.

"Hi." She responded, unsure of what else to say to him.

"I booked you a hotel room. Figured you wouldn't know Sacramento that well."

"Um, thanks." Again, she didn't really know what to say. She was still unsure of this man, who always seemed to know what to say as though he could read her mind, and whose smile never quite reached his eyes.

The elevator reached the bottom floor, Patrick told her the address of the hotel, informing it was only a few blocks away, and gave a little wave goodbye. Isabella tried to return it, but he had already gone.

She reached the hotel quickly and, grabbing the few possessions she had left in the world, made her way into the building. She retrieved her key and, politely declining the help of a bellhop, struggled with her things up to the room. It may have been petty, but as this was all that remained of her past life she needed to carry it alone. She placed it all on the sofa once inside the room and stared at it for several minutes before telling herself to look inside.

Clothes filled the bags, mostly, but amongst them were other things. Things of huge sentimental value that she had not expected to see ever again. A lump formed in Issy's throat. A picture frame, wrapped in clothes to prevent it breaking, held one of Issy's favorite photos of her family. It had been taken on a weekend away to Disneyland that they had gone on a couple of years ago. It was a surprise for the kids, but in all honesty Issy had gotten just as much out of it as they had. Sam wore a Goofy hat, grinning just as wide as the character on his head. Lizzie clutched her mom's hand tightly, not quite sure whether to be frightened or excited by the giant costumed animals striding by her. Issy set the frame aside and looked deeper into the bags. A tiny pair of pink shoes, Elizabeth's first, housed a small, thread badge. Sam's animal carer cub badge. He'd been so excited to show it to her when he had been given it, and even though he only attended meetings for a couple of months, his pride had lasted much longer. As she moved the booties out of the bag, something slightly heavier fell to the heel. A plain, gold band, much like the one she still wore on the third finger of her left hand. Rich's wedding ring. She didn't know how Patrick had come to acquire it -surely it had been bagged as evidence?- but in that moment she felt such gratitude for the man she hardly knew. She would have to sincerely thank him, if she were to ever see him again. She found a silver necklace that had also been provided to her in the bags, took off the heart that was supposed to adorn the jewellery and replaced it with the ring she had just found, securing it around her neck. Finally, she dug deeply into one of the bags and hit something solid. A book. Or in greater truth, an album. It was covered in glittered glue and random stickers and embossed with swirling gold letters, rather obviously Richard's input, 'To Mom, on Mothers Day'. Issy quickly changed into the first pair of pyjamas she could find and climbed into the borrowed bed with the book. She flicked carefully through the pages, scanning each picture intently. Although she already knew the photos back to front, they bore a new importance now that she knew that these were the only way she would ever see her family again. She followed every curl of her daughter's hair, the rounded cheeks of her son's face and the lines of happiness that creased her husband's eyes.. She spent hours looking through the book, unaware she was crying until the droplets started to impede her vision. And for the second time in as many nights, Isabella cried herself to a restless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**New chapterrr. I hope that people are enjoying this because I have really enjoyed writing it so far. I'm a bit worried that Isabella hasn't come across particularly well so far, but it's sort of part of her development. She won't always be so blunt!  
**

* * *

_"I don't like him, Iz." Simon shook his head with a frown. _

_"Come on, Si, you hardly know him. He's a good guy really." _

_Issy and Simon had barely seen each other recently, with all of their college work and Issy spending a lot of time with Rich. They'd managed to find some time to meet up in the college library, hoping to both catch up on work and with each other. Richard and Isabella had only known each other for a month or so but they'd really hit it off, or so Issy had thought. They'd met several times since their first date and, true to his word, Rich had changed her mind and turned out to be a pretty sweet guy. _

_"You hardly know him! You met him, what, 3 weeks ago? He could be anyone!" Simon had started to raise his voice. _

_"Shh!" Issy hushed him, looking around at the other students that had started to glare disapprovingly at them. _

_He huffed and was silent for a few moments. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to argue with you. I just don't think he's right for you. You could do better, much better." _

_Issy missed the wistful look he gave her as she had turned her head to see who had opened the large, creaking, wooden doors. She grinned as Richard sauntered through the doors. He scanned the room, catching Issy's gaze and returning her grin. She turned to face her work to hide her smile and heard the scrape of a chair beside her. _

_"Hey Simon," Rich greeted without looking his way, "Bella." _

_"Hey Dicky." Issy countered one eyebrow raised in a slight defiance, picking the pet name she had discovered Richard's mother had given him, much to his disgust. _

_He growled playfully, "okay, okay, you win, no more 'Bella' if you promise not to call me that ever again." _

_Issy shrugged, "I'm not promising anything..." _

_They continued like this for a while, back and forth. They tried to involve Simon, asking him if he wanted to go with them for a meal the following week, but he was quite unresponsive, mumbling something about deadlines. He soon excused himself and left the two alone, anger bubbling deeply inside of him._

* * *

Isabella jolted awake. She glanced at the clock to her right. 5:26. She'd managed to sleep for about 40 minutes that time. It was always a different nightmare but each just as horrific as the next. Sighing, she reluctantly pulled herself out of bed and headed for the shower. She wasted half an hour washing and then sifted through her clothes for something to wear. She fiddled with the chain around her neck, which she hadn't taken off during her shower. She noticed the piles of underwear provided to her, and wasn't sure whether she should be embarrassed or not. Then came to the conclusion that given she was pondering this, she quite clearly wasn't. Under different circumstances she almost certainly would have been. But these weren't different circumstances. Her husband wasn't going to be jealous because he was dead. What reason did she have to feel embarrassed when countless, more important emotions continuously flowed through her. She almost wished she could feel embarrassed, as it would mean that she didn't have to feel the complex mess she did inside her.

Guilt she had in abundance. She understood the root, or roots, of this. Her families death, of course, was her fault. Guilt at not listening to Richard. Guilt that the last words between herself and her husband were angry, and that it was her fault. Guilt that in the same room as her murdered family she had been violated. Humiliation and fear and anger.

Anger now seemed to be the predominant emotion within her. Anger at herself, of course, but slowly, seeping through the other emotions, pushing them all to the side of her mind, a stronger anger at Simon. The blonde haired, blue eyed boy that had been by her side for almost as long as she could remember. Her best friend. The man who destroyed her life.

It was in this moment that she vowed to herself that she would not rest until she had caught him. Caught him and made him suffer so that he might go through even a fraction of the pain that she was.

Isabella dressed quickly and retrieved her laptop. She fired it up and racked her brain furiously for anything that Simon may have said or a change in his behaviour that indicated where he may have gone. Her detective nature flared and she scolded herself for not starting her own investigation sooner.

Simon was an introvert, or so she believed, so she wouldn't have expected him to leave the city for longer than a week, let alone the state. Given their most recent meeting, however, Simon was clearly not the man Isabella knew him to be and could be halfway around the world by now. As a literature major he had always expressed a love of Britain, with the works of Dickins and Shakespeare somewhat of an obsession of his. He could have gotten on a plane and flown to London, but to what end? No, he'd done this to her so that they could be together. He would be nearby to... claim his prize. The thought sickened her.

Her musing was disturbed by a knock at the door. Laying her laptop on the bed, Issy opened the door to find reveal Patrick Jane.

"Morning."

"Uh... morning," Isabella replied, adding, "what are you doing up this early?"

Patrick looked at his watch, frowning, "9:30 constitutes as early now?"

"Oh, crap is that the time? I didn't realise. Was there something you needed to ask me?" Now that she was getting somewhere she wanted to get back to her work.

"You look terrible. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Is that what you came here to ask?"

"No. I wanted to let you in on some of the details of the case. I can see you've been doing some work yourself." Jane nodded past her to the open laptop.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I've made a start. Did you want to come in?"

"No, thanks. I was thinking we could get some breakfast. You look like you could do with it."

Isabella decided not to take offence at this, glancing once the laptop before grabbed her purse and following Patrick out of the hotel and to his car.

* * *

Issy looked around the café. It was small and decorated neutrally as though not to offend. It seemed to be working as it was remarkably full.

A waitress approached them and asked to take their order. Issy shook her head, which awarded her a quick glance, with Patrick ordering tea. Isabella waited expectantly for him to start. Instead, he looked out of the window at passers by. The waitress returned with a pot of tea that Jane then held out in offering. Issy shook her head once more, but he poured her a cup anyway.

"Patrick, what are we doing here? If you have information then I'd be happy to hear it, but if not my time can be put to better use."

"You've changed since yesterday. There's a... determination that wasn't there before. You've accepted the idea of revenge. Much sooner than I had, actually."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Patrick Ja-"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Try the tea, it's good."

She stared at him.

Patrick sighed. "Okay. I'm a consultant at the CBI, but I wasn't always. I joined after the murder of my wife and child." He looked her in the eye as he spoke, a sadness there that showed his grief had not lessened over time.

Issy nodded. She had assumed so. How else would he have had such in-depth understanding of her pain?

"I've been looking for their murderer for years but he's... smarter than I am. But Simon? Simon can be found. And he will be, soon. I promise you that." There was sincerity there.

She nodded again, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while. Issy took a sip of her tea, realising that it was, in fact, very good.

"So you're a consultant. What does that entail?"

"I read minds. That's how the CBI solve so many cases."

Issy raised an eyebrow, declaring 'bullshit' with her eyes.

Patrick chuckled, stating more honestly this time,"I see things that most people don't see. The little twitches that show the lies, the change in tone that give away guarded emotion, the stances that point exactly to where they don't want you to look.

"I can read you like a book. I know about the tattoo that you got once on a whim when you were younger. I also know that you've always wanted to get more, but you could never figure out what or where so you put it off. I know that you love animals and that if you hadn't gone into law enforcement you would've pursued a career with them, most likely at a rescue centre. You like to read, you're favourite color is orange and wish your parents had pushed you to learn how to play an instrument when you were little."

The jovial nature that had held his features - the tugging at the corners of his lips and creasing of his eyes - left before he spoke again, and was replaced by a more sombre expression.

"I know that you haven't eaten or slept properly since the death of your family, and that you're putting on a brave face because that is the only thing that's keeping you together. And I know that you will not rest until you have found the person that has done this to you. You're a shell of your former self and may never return to being that person. It will take a while to find yourself again, but you will."

He gave a small, reassuring smile that Issy tried to replicate. He was so accurate. She was thankful that he didn't mention what he must also have known. The crushing agony that sat on her chest. Or the twisting, stab of pain in her heart when the dull, lifeless faces of her family flashed through her mind.

"I can help. I know Simon better than anyone." Or at least she thought she did.

"Yes. That's why I brought you here; to ask if you wanted to take part in the investigation. Not officially, of course."

She was still a suspect, obviously. Difficult to rule out someone who had been at the scene around the time of death. She understood.

But she would get nowhere on her laptop. What she needed was a police database; access to records and accounts. She couldn't do this alone.

"Of course. Shall we get started?"


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm not sure if I should keep the rating as it is or change it to T because really all of the chapters left aren't any more scary or gruesome or adult and they haven't been particularly M to start with I wouldn't have said, so maybe let me know what you think? Also, I'm not sure that the part about finding Simon on the database would go the same way in a real police investigation; I would imagine that the police would update records better than they seem to have in my story, but for the purposes of this I'm just going to leave it this way. I hope that nobody minds. Hope you enjoy this chapter.  
**

* * *

"The main suspect is near. Most likely in the Sacramento area in order to keep watch over Isabella." Jane addressed his colleagues as Issy looked on.

She had told him her theory during the car ride to the bureau. He seemed impressed by this deduction, but was quick to state that he was already aware of it. She had been introduced to the team a little while before. They'd made awkward, idle chit chat but all anyone really wanted was to get on with the investigation, and so they found themselves where they were now.

"He's a rookie, never done anything like this before, as far as we know, so he'll have been sloppy." Jane continued.

"So, we start with family, friends, anyone who might try to conceal him. Rigsby, Cho, go back and ask around. Last time we were under the impression he'd fled but that may not be the case. Jane, you're with me. The warrant for his house has come through. We can see if that gives us anything." Lisbon said.

Most of the agents prepared to head out. Their tasks would most likely take them the whole day, considering the distance away from the bureau, but Issy was determined to find something to do while they worked. She was annoyed that she couldn't go out into the field but understood that this was the way that things had to be.

"Am I alright to use one of these computers?" Issy addressed Van Pelt, the only agent that had remained seated and looked rather sullen about it.

"Um..." Van Pelt twisted in her chair to look at Lisbon, question in her eyes.

"Sure, you can use mine." Jane answered for her.

Lisbon glanced at him, unsure, but said nothing. They had made it to the lift by the time Lisbon voiced her concern.

"Are you sure that's wise? She is still a suspect, she could be doing anything on that computer now to lead us away from her. And, if she isn't the killer, like you are so adamant she isn't, would she not be better off somewhere else for the time being? You know, grieving?"

They exited the elevator and made their way to the car park.

"What do you suppose she do instead? Sit in some hotel room and twiddle her thumbs? This is her grieving, Lisbon. This is her making it right, by bringing her family's murderer to justice. She needs to busy herself with this or she'll go insane."

The double meaning was obvious and Lisbon knew better than to push the point any further. He knew more than her, about areas like this at least. Besides, the statements given by Isabella's colleague's showed her to be a damn good cop. An extra pair of hands couldn't hurt, right?

* * *

Isabella had taken a seat at Jane's desk. She tapped her foot impatiently as the computer in front of her booted up, looking around the office. It seemed a nice place to work, and the agents were friendly enough. Van Pelt had obviously been left on office duty, something that Issy had herself hated and done her fair share of at the start of her career. The agent seemed unsure of something, on numerous occasions starting to turn around and then deciding against it. She got up suddenly and walked to the kitchen, poking her head around the corner, a smile slightly too wide to be natural on her lips.

"Tea?" She asked Issy.

"I'll come and make it, thank you." The computer was taking its time to get started anyway.

Issy joined the pretty, red-headed woman in the kitchen and an awkward silence ensued.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," Van Pelt blurted out, blushing furiously as though she already regretted her words. "To you. I mean, to your family, but to you too, of course."

Issy smiled and, trying to catch Van Pelt's eye, said, "thanks. But you're fine to act normally around me. In fact, I'd prefer it. That way I can pretend that I'm just working some other case."

Van Pelt smiled back at Isabella. It was probably the first real smile of hers that Issy had seen.

"You know, I'm sure they're really proud of you. I bet they'll be watching you right now and really appreciate what you're doing for them."

Not wanting to get into a debate like this here and now, Issy just nodded and watched the agent take her mug to her desk. Issy stood still for a second, having to compose herself and push the horrible, sickly feeling that had formed in her throat back down into her stomach. Wiping away a stray tear, she took a deep breath and started towards her desk, more prepared and focused than ever to get to work.

* * *

A few hours later, and they had still gotten nowhere. Issy rubbed her temples, trying once more to think of where Simon might have gone, or just of any little bit of information that could give them a lead.

"And you're sure that's all they found at the scene? You checked everywhere?" Issy had asked this more than once now but she was sure that Simon wouldn't have done as thorough a job as he seemed to have. But then again, maybe he had. Hadn't she told him stories about cases in the past? How they had struggled to find the criminals and nail them because of a lack of evidence.

"Yeah, just the partial print on the wall and the bodies." Van Pelt looked up apologetically. "And we ran Simon's name through the computer, no previous."

Isabella sat back in her chair and sighed exasperatedly. She had no idea what to do. She was useless. All of her time in the police force and she couldn't find someone that used to follow her around like a younger sibling. That's what she used to be to him. A protective big sister that stood up for him even when he was in the wrong and helped him through the tough times. When his father had left-

Wait.

"Agent Van Pelt, when you searched for Simon's records, what name did you go by?"

"Simon Parker." She frowned, confused by the question. "Why?"

"He was arrested. When we were 17." Issy was on her feet and by the agents desk in a moment. "Try a Simon McDonald."

Van Pelt typed it in and hit enter. And there it was.

Simon McDonald: one count of underage drinking. Samples taken.

Bingo. They could at least put Simon in the room after the murder now that he was in the system, with the partial and the DNA they'd collected from herself...

"Simon changed his surname before we started college," Isabella began to explain, putting on her jacket frantically, "His father was a thug, a real low-life. Was never around and when he was he beat him and his mom. Simon wanted nothing to do with him, reverted back to his mothers maiden name. Before all of this we'd gone to some senior's party but it was raided and Simon got caught. He was only held overnight, more to scare him than anything else, but they took samples. We can place him at the scene."

Van Pelt smiled at the breakthrough, faltering when she realized that Issy was leaving. "Where are you going? It's not safe for you if we don't know where Simon is."

"I'll be fine," Issy said waving a hand dismissively. "I'll call if I find anything."

Van Pelt watched her leave, bounding down the stairs to avoid the wait for the elevator. She was used to similar bluntness so took no offense by it. She was so intense, she thought to herself, and in so much hidden pain. There was that same look in her eye as Jane had; that sadness when they thought no one was looking. But behind it all, the suffering and hurt, seemed a nice woman.

And so, as Van Pelt returned to her computer to start a new search with fresh information, she sincerely hoped that the case would be solved soon so that Isabella could start to build a new life.

* * *

Lisbon and Jane arrived at the house in good time, despite Patrick's grumbling about the speed, or lack of, that the driver exhibited. It was small, but adequate for a bachelor, with an neat garden and white painted porch. They made their way to the door and knocked loudly.

"Mr Parker? Open up, it's the CBI! We just wanna ask a few questions." Lisbon called, voice raised.

There was no reply.

A door creaked to their right and out shuffled a man, back slightly hunched and walking stick in hand. He was dark-skinned, with even darker spots flecked across his cheeks from working in the sun. He squinted out at them, thick glasses framing his deep brown eyes.

"If you're lookin' for Simon he took off outa here 'bout a week ago. Hasn't come back since." The man called in a thick, southern accent.

"Any idea where he might have gone?"

The man shook his head. "He took a lot o' stuff, though, so I'd say he was goin' for a while wherever he went."

"We're investigating the murder of a male and two children." Lisbon explained.

"Oh, yes." He looked down, remorseful. "Such a terrible tragedy. And how is dear Isabella?"

"She'll be fine." Jane said, smiling grimly.

"Well, you tell her she ever needs anythin' that ol' Harry's got her back." And with that, the man limped back into his house.

Lisbon looked at Jane. "Think we need to bring him in?"

"Nah, he doesn't know anything. Right!" Jane clapped his hands together. "He's obviously not here."

He produced a hair pin from his pocket. "Shall I?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes at the childlike grin on his face, looking around the porch as he went to work.

"You have to get the pin... right in the center... of the lock." Jane frowned in concentration, wiggling the hair pin to no avail.

Lisbon lifted a plant pot on a window ledge, uncovering a key. She picked it up, held it towards Jane and cleared her throat, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, well, that would work as well. Less fun though." Jane grumbled.

They entered the house cautiously. Someone had obviously left in a hurry. Books scattered the floor, the washing machine door was open, clothes spilling out, and kitchen cupboards were stripped bare.

"I'll look upstairs. You see if you can find anything down here." Lisbon instructed.

A flashing light drew Jane's attention to a phone. 9 new messages. He clicked a button to listen to them, most of which consisted of a shrill woman's voice insisting Simon ring her, and wandered around the room, eyes picking up on the smallest of details. A lipstick marked coffee cup, the contents of which had started to go moldy. Christmas, birthday and post cards stacked on a table; all addressed to Simon from Issy, he noticed as he flicked through them. A number jotted down by the side of the phone. Finally, a different message clicked over on the machine. The voice was male this time.

"Hey. Uh, so I got the stuff for you. Come get it soon, I don't wanna be caught with it. Call me." The voice was nervous. What 'stuff' could he mean? The message was dated after the murder, so it was unlikely to be weapons. Jane pondered this for a while, and took down the number on the notepad. It was sure to come in handy, even if they didn't know who it belonged to.

"Jane! Get up here, now!"

He climbed the stairs swiftly, glancing into the bathroom, which was small and clustered, and sourced Lisbon's voice to the bedroom.

He entered the room, shocked at what he immediately saw. Huge, blown up pictures of Isabella pinned to almost every inch of the walls. Most of which she was unaware had been taken, the poses unnatural and often half lost behind random shapes of shrubbery. One of her taken when she was much younger, laughing with Simon who, even as a teenager, had an unnerving glint in his eye as he looked at Isabella. Another at the mall with her children, bending down to tie the young girl's shoe laces. The next taken from outside her house looking up; a picture of Issy's bedroom, her husband's arms locked around her waist as she reached to close the curtains, leaning into the embrace with a smile. It was carefree, unlike those that Jane had seen.

There were hundreds. All different, but all with the same subject. Jane had been involved in cases of obsessiveness but this was something else. Writing adorned the walls in a thick, black paint. Quotes, overlapping the pictures and purposefully covering faces other than those of his one desire. 'Love demands infinitely less than friendship.' 'All's fair in love and war.' 'Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence'

Lisbon turned to Jane, a look akin to disgust in her eyes.

Jane noticed that this room was tidier than downstairs. Not surprising; it was clearly some kind of shrine to Isabella so he would keep this area the cleanest of all. An ajar wardrobe door caught Jane's attention. He opened it to find half a dozen pairs of shoes, but it was one in particular that Jane was interested in. A white sneaker discarded haphazardly atop the pile. He lifted it, examining the sole and finding crusty, crimson blood embedded into the rubber.

"We can put him at the scene." Jane said, assuming the blood would link to one of the Sanders.

The assumption was fair, Lisbon thought. "Now all we have to do is find him."


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey anyone who's stuck with this! This is the penultimate chapter to this story as it was really written almost as a prequel to the main story that will be uploaded after this. The chapters for it are pretty slow going at the moment though as I'm finding it quite difficult to write, but hopefully I'll be able to get them out without too much delay! Well I hope that you enjoy this one, anyway. Please review!  
**

* * *

Issy found herself back at the same café that she and Jane had been at that morning. It was mid afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, casting everything in an orange light. She sat outside, shielded from the glare by a white parasol and looking out at the people around her. A woman talked hurriedly on the phone to someone, gesticulating angrily with her hand as though the other person could see her. Another pushed a double pram with a further two children at her sides, her hair in a messy bun and eyes tired by lack of sleep. It aged her; she couldn't be much older than 25 but she certainly didn't look it. Issy supposed that having so many children of such a young age would do that to you, not that she would know. She had been happy, more than happy, with two. Richard, on the other hand, had always wanted more.

Being one of two, and for the formative years of his life feeling the second best of two, he had wanted a house full of kids to cherish and love. Issy, as an only child, wanted to be able to give her children the attention that she had recieved, something she felt she would be unable to do with so many. They had argued. It seemed that whenever Issy tried to look back at the time she had shared with her family, all she could see was the bad. The grumpiness on Sam's face when he was told that they couldn't have a dog for Christmas. The sad look that Elizabeth had given her when she told her that she wouldn't be able to make her dance recital. The defeated glance Rich threw at her when she got home from work late on pizza night, the third she had missed in a row. She had given her excuses: it's just too much responsibility, she couldn't get away from work, there was nothing she could do.

And now she had to suffer, for the rest of her life, with the pain of knowing that she could have done more.

Issy felt a buzzing in her pocket and it took her a moment to realize what it was. She pulled out the unfamiliar phone and read the caller ID. Van Pelt. Issy had been given the cell by the CBI, though she heavily suspected Jane's input in the administration. She had protested strongly against this, insisting she would buy herself a phone, considering she needed a new one anyway, but they hadn't listened. It already had the team's numbers programmed in and meant that she wouldn't have to use her previous cell whose number Simon had memorized. She had returned to the hotel room since leaving the CBI office in order to check her old phone, hoping for a message or missed call, but found nothing. She had taken it with her, just in case.

"Hey," Van Pelt said through the phone, "I found some stuff out about Simon's dad, Micheal McDonald. He was put away a few years ago for burglary. He was released about a month ago and has already caused some problems. Not enough to arrest him, but enough to find out where he lives. He's pretty close, only a half hour away."

"Great, I'll head over there now, what's the address?" Issy asked, grabbing a pen from her bag and readying a napkin.

"Well, the thing is," Van Pelt began awkwardly, "the boss said that we should all meet back here to, you know, compare notes. She said that she and Jane had found something interesting, you'll probably want to hear about it."

That translated to 'we don't trust you to go and do this alone'. Issy sighed. "Fine, I'm heading back now." She disconnected and headed to her car. She'd find out the address somehow.

* * *

By the time that returned it was nearly 6 o'clock. Cho and Rigsby hadn't found out anything they didn't already know, but the message on Simon's phone was interesting. Jane had recorded it for Issy to listen to in case she recognized the voice, but it was unfamiliar to her.

Lisbon announced that they would go to the McDonald house in the morning, much to Issy's dismay. There was little point in protesting, she had thought to herself, as it would only lead to her removal from the case that she wasn't supposed to be working anyway. And then where would she be? With nowhere to go and nothing to do. But she needed to find Simon, and soon. Every passing second made her grow more anxious about his apprehension. Lisbon technically hadn't said anything about looking around Mikey's house, just that we wouldn't talk to him until the morning.

* * *

Issy had gone back to the hotel room, showered and changed into dark clothes quickly before she headed out to Micheal's house. She'd parked a few blocks away, over cautiously, really, as she didn't expect the man who hadn't seen her since she was a teenager to recognize a car she had bought a couple of years ago. The house was small and grotty looking, with a tiny front garden surrounded by hedges. She made her way up to them stealthily, low to the ground, and hid behind them, peeking over the top.

She could see Micheal inside sprawled across a sofa, beer in hand and television displaying some violent film. He hadn't changed, much. Gotten a bit wider, perhaps, and lost some hair, but was still the brute of a man that he'd always been. He seemed to be alone, but it was impossible to tell. He could have Simon hiding anywhere, or at least know of his whereabouts. Issy straightened to make her way closer to the house.

"Boo," someone whispered from behind her.

She cursed and jumped backwards, off balance. A pair of hands steadied her and Issy spun round to defend herself, arms up in protection.

Jane, a finger too his lips to indicate quiet.

She pushed him, both furious and relieved in equal parts. "What are you doing? You scared the shit outta me!"

"Well, not literally I hope."

Isabella chose to ignore him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Patrick said pointedly. "I knew you'd come. The lure would be too much for anyone. Now, how about we go and talk to Micheal McDonald?"

He flashed a smile in her direction and it disarmed her. Was he messing with her? Was this a test that she had to pass to continue working with the team? Before she could consider this for too long, Patrick had made his way halfway up the drive. Issy quickly followed.

He tapped on the door with his knuckles and rocked on his heels impatiently as he waited for the answer.

Micheal opened the door looking as though he'd smelt something he wished he hadn't. "What do you want? I'm not giving to no charity and I don't got a religion. Don't want one neither."

He was no great intellect. In fact, Simon was the first in his family to go to college, much to the delight of Issy, when they were younger, who had helped him to apply for a scholarship that he successfully gained.

"Mr McDonald? Patrick Jane, CBI." Jane flashed his ID. "We have a few questions to ask you regarding your son."

Micheal looked between the two. "I don't talk to cops." He went to close the door.

Isabella stopped it with her hand. "Please, Micheal. We need to find Simon."

"Do I know you, miss?"

"It's Issy. Issy Flynn."

Micheal's eyebrows raised and he smirked, looking her up and down. "Holy shit, ain't you filled out well. Gotta tell you, I thought you was a lost cause when you was a teen. All teeth and flat as an ironing board."

Issy glanced at Patrick who was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hide a grin.

Micheal turned into his house leaving the door open as an invitation. The two followed him in. "I ain't seen Simon years. What's he s'possed to have done?"

"He murdered my family."

"No kidding?" He asked, throwing his heavy load onto a battered sofa. It groaned under his weight. "Didn't think he had the balls to do somethin' like that."

"And you've definitely not seen or heard from him recently?" Patrick pushed.

"I said I hadn't, didn't I?" Micheal said a little forcefully, warning in his eyes. "I ain't heard from him or his bitch mother in years, thank God."

Patrick pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. "What about this number, do you recognize it?"

"Nah." He opened a can of beer, gulping back huge big mouthfuls.

"And you have no idea where he might have gone? Any family in the area?"

"Not that I know of." Micheal had clearly lost interest and was once again engrossed in the television.

"So you're certain he hasn't been here. Not even a quick call to say hi?" Patrick asked.

Micheal's attention was back on the pair. "Are you trying to be funny pal?"

"Not particularly. I do know a few jokes though, if you wanted me to try them?"

Micheal rose from the sofa, with some difficulty, and advanced on Patrick. Isabella shifted her position to stand between them. "I don't know what your game is here but you're really starting to piss me off. I've taken down men twice your size, and trust me, I ain't afraid to take down cops."

Patrick stared at Micheal for a few seconds, analyzing him.

"That's all for now. Thanks for your time." Issy said, looking at Patrick pointedly, who noticed this and turned to leave.

"Hey, missy, I got a couple of beers and cable TV if you're interested? You know, now that your hubby's not around."

She checked to see if he was joking, finding that Micheal stood with a smile on his face that Issy could only assume he thought was seductive. "I'll get back to you on that one."

"You know where I am."

Micheal watched them walk out of the door, waggling his podgy fingers when Issy turned to see if he was still looking at them.

"What did you do that for?" Issy asked.

"What?" Patrick countered innocently.

"Rile him up like that. You know he's been charged for violent conduct before. I thought he was going to knock you out."

"Pfft." He said, waving a hand as if the idea was preposterous. "It was educational. He doesn't know where Simon is. People find it difficult to lie when they're angry. There was no deceit, just anger. And a whiff of Cheetos."

Issy laughed despite herself, then sighed heavily. "So were no further."

Patrick glanced sideways at her. "We'll find him. We have leads that we can follow up tomorrow. For now you should try to get some rest. And some food, you still haven't been eating."

It was almost an accusation.

"Sure."

They arrived at Isabella's car and said goodbye. The drive back to the hotel was hard. She had really hoped for something to come of this. They were back to square one. The darkness, that Isabella always felt in her heart but was worse when she was alone, struck with such a physical force that she almost needed to pull over. She managed to make it to the hotel and her room, kick off her shoes and curl into bed fully clothed before it consumed her completely.

* * *

Isabella arrived at the office early the following morning, both because she wanted to get on with work as soon as possible and because she hadn't really slept and needed to get out of the hotel before the cream walls closed in on her any further. Jane was the only other person there when she got there, sprawled across the sofa with tousled hair and waistcoat lying open. He woke with a start and spotted Isabella.

"Sorry." She apologized. "Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah, I do sometimes." He got to his feet wearily, rubbing his eyes and stretching. "What time is it?"

She checked her phone. 7:20.

"Only early. Just wanted to get started."

Jane understood. "Have you eaten?"

She nodded but knew it was unconvincing.

Patrick sighed and grabbed his coat. "Come on." He insisted, gesturing for her to follow.

"Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm fi-"

"You're not fine. And you're no good to the team half starved. You need to start looking after yourself."

Patrick continued out of the building, expecting her to follow. And, reluctantly, she did.

She expected him to lead her to his car, a cute little blue thing (she never had been much into cars), but instead he strolled right out of the compound and onto the sidewalk. They walked in comfortable silence as the city around them started up for the day. Shops were setting up, business men stormed hurriedly to work, picking up bagels from vendors, and children walked together on their way to school. They passed a flower shop, vibrantly colored with reds and oranges and purples. Issy could smell all of them- the roses and lilys and carnations- but, overpowering all of this, was the scent of lavender. It came from a small pot; most likely wasn't even for sale but just to draw people in. Isabella slowed and her breathing hitched.

_"Tadaa!" Richard brandished a sprig of lavender like a sword, holding it out towards Issy._

_She sat, arms folded across her chest, completely unimpressed. "You do realize that this doesn't make up for being..." she checked her watch "over 30 minutes late."_

_"Come on, Iz, I'm only late because I was trying to find this stupid flower!"_

_"It's an herb." She corrected petulantly._

_"Well whatever, it might as well have been a freakin' unicorn for how long it took to find. Had to grab a bit out of someone's garden! They weren't impressed, let me tell you. A word of advise; don't ever mess with the old lady on Lathrop Road. She nearly ran me over on her mobility scooter."_

_Issy had intended to stay mad at Richard for longer but try as she might she couldn't manage to. He had an uncanny ability to make her smile, even when he was in trouble with her. They had only been seeing each other for a few months but already it had seemed like much longer. But in a good way._

_"So, what are you getting?" Issy asked, trying once again to seem nonchalant and disinterested._

_"I was thinking unicorn steak?" Richard smirked lazily, looked up at her from underneath his eyelashes and trying to coax a smile._

_He succeeded, Issy warned him that next time she wouldn't wait, and then they were back to normal, joking and teasing each other in the comfortable way they had managed to do since the day they had met._

"You okay?" Patrick asked, eyes forward.

Isabella regained her composure and replied, "Yes."

He decided not to push it and continued on.

It took about 15 minutes to get to the restaurant and they assigned themselves a seat due to the lack of customers. It seemed nice enough, in a retro diner kind of way, and Issy half expected the waitresses to roll out of the kitchen on skates with giant, teased, fake hair and chewing noticeably on gum. She was quite disappointed when a young brunette dressed smartly in black came to take their order.

Jane ordered eggs, lightly scrambled on toast. Still with no appetite or desire to eat much of anything, Issy ordered the same to keep Patrick happy.

"So were going to find out who left the message today?" Issy asked.

"Yeah, we'll set up the tracker and pay him a visit. Hopefully that'll give us some insight into Simon's plans."

The food arrived and Patrick tucked in, groaning in appreciation. "Can't beat good eggs."

Issy picked at hers. Whatever she did eat tasted of nothing and was difficult to swallow. With Issy's somewhat clean plate they left and headed back to the bureau, ready to start the search all over again.

* * *

"So what you're telling me is that we have another Jane on our hands?"

The voice came from the chief's office and was suitably annoyed.

Isabella flinched at the tone and was grateful when the door was closed, shielding her from anything else that might be said.

Jane handed her a cup of tea. "They say that as though it's a bad thing."

When everyone had arrived that morning, Patrick had told them about the trip to Micheal's house that he and Issy had paid the night before. Lisbon was less than impressed, aiming her anger primarily at Jane but she had warned Issy that if she pulled anything like this again she couldn't be allowed to continue helping them with the case.

Lisbon exited the office looking tired. Issy figured that this wasn't the first time she'd been reprimanded for Patrick's behavior. All of the agents gathered by the desks. The plan was to locate the whereabouts of the unknown man on Simon's answering machine.

"So, we need to keep him on the line long enough to trace the call. Jane, care to do the honours?" Lisbon handed him the phone.

Patrick dialled the number and it rang a few times before a man answered.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hi, I was wondering if you could get some, uh, stuff for me?" Patrick asked, dropping his voice to convey secrecy.

"Who is this?" The man asked, unsure.

"A friend of mine recommended you. Said you could get me some stuff, no questions asked, and that it was good quality too."

"Oh, really? Who is this friend of yours?"

The man was cautious.

"Simon Parker. He said I could come pick up his stuff too."

It was a risk. Simon might have already picked up whatever it was this man had for him. Luckily, it paid off.

"Right." He still sounded skeptical. "Well, you get my address from this Simon and I'll sort you out."

Patrick looked at Cho, who had been working the device. He nodded, signifying that they had successfully traced the call.

"Sure, thanks." He ended the conversation and hung up.

"Leon Davis. He's 56 with previous for fraud and identity theft." Cho informed them all.

Lisbon told the other three agents to look into Davis further and gathered her things to head out. Patrick and Issy followed. She wasn't missing this. She finally felt as though they were getting somewhere and she had a good feeling that this clue would pay off, unlike the others that they had followed. This Leon Davis knew of Simon, and might even be able to help them find him.


	9. Chapter 9

**So this is the final chapter for this story! When I originally thought of it I was just going to let it all run as the same story, but I think it will be better split up like this so we'll see how it goes. The next one probably won't be published for a little while because I'm having major writer's block and haven't written anything new in ages so I'm pretty behind! But I have been busy recently so hopefully when things calm down I'll be able to get the chapter's written more quickly and get them on the site. I hope that anyone who's read this has enjoyed it and thanks so much for reading, it means a lot. Also thanks to my followers and reviewers, again I really appreciate it. I was ridiculously excited whenever I got an e-mail regarding follows or reviews so I love you all long time. Please enjoy the end of my first story!  
**

* * *

The house of Leon Davis was of a decent size. Bikes lay discarded in the garden and toys scattered the driveway. It was slightly run down, with weeds overtaking the stone steps and paint beginning to peel slightly.

The three made their way up to the house and knocked on the door. It was quickly answered by a young girl, no older than 4, with dark brown hair and flushed cheeks from exertion.

"Hi," she said, smiling toothily.

"Hi," Lisbon responded, bending down to her level, "are there any grownups in?"

"Sure, my grandpa's always in. Grandpaaa?" She shouted.

"What is all this racket?" A woman of about 50, with tired eyes and stress-streaked hair, came to the door.

"Eleanor, I've told you not to answer the door by yourself." She scolded and looked towards the three. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, were looking for a Leon Davis?" Lisbon led.

"That's my grandpa!" Eleanor stated proudly.

The woman turned to the young girl."Ellie, sweety, why don't you go and find your brothers?"

Little Ellie didn't need telling twice, and ran through the house to find someone to play with.

"What's this about?" The woman addressed them.

"We're here to ask your husband about one of his 'clients'." Jane said.

"How did you know he was my husband?"

"You told me."

"No I didn't."

"Well, not verbally."

"Could we speak with him, ma'am?" Isabella asked, anxious for information.

She allowed them all into the house somewhat cautiously. It was cosy, with worn sofas and knitted comforters. Soft toys and remote control cars littered the floor, which were pushed hastily to the side by an embarrassed Mrs Davis.

"Sorry about the mess." She said as she led them to the door to the basement. She knocked a couple of times. "Lee, there are some people here to talk to you."

There was a clattering and then the scrape if a chair before footsteps were heard. Leon Davis was a thin haired, mousy kind of man, with watery blue eyes and rather large glasses.

"What can I do for you?" He asked as he came to the top of the stairs, closing the door behind him and wiping his glasses on an ink stained shirt. His gaze flickered between the three of them, holding the longest on Isabella.

"What you got going on down there, Leon?" Patrick asked, inclining his head towards the basement.

"Oh, uh, I paint figurines. It's kind of a hobby of mine." He chuckled nervously.

"Cool!" Patrick responded. "I love that kind of stuff."

He brushed past Leon and made his way down the stairs.

"No, wait!"

Leon's protests were ignored, as Lisbon and Issy followed Jane. The small room was dominated by a large desk illuminated by numerous bright laps. A suspended magnifying glass hung over dozens of passports and pieces of paper that on closer inspection appeared to be birth certificates.

"Wow. Got yourself a nice little earner down here, haven't you?" Patrick observed.

Leon looked flustered. "Look, please don't arrest me. I know I shouldn't be doing this but I have no choice! I got laid off last year, and we were doing fine on just Mary's money until the kids came. They're our son's but he's been in and out of prison for years and their mother died about six months ago. We couldn't sustain ourselves without the extra income! Please, I can't see the kids go into care."

Jane and Lisbon looked between each other.

"We'll cut you a deal. Tell us everything you know about Simon Parker and we'll... forget we saw this room." Jane bargained.

Leon exhaled, relieved. "Yes, yes of course."

He rushed to the desk and flicked through the passports, finding one that he was looking for and holding it out to them. Issy took it off him, opening it to see Simon's picture under the name of 'James Wilson'.

"He called me up a couple of weeks ago, said he'd heard about me from a previous client. He told me he'd need to get out of the country soon, gave me a couple of photographs and asked me to make the passports and documents for him. I told them they'd be ready in a week but he still hasn't shown."

"You said photos, as in plural. Who else did you forge for?" Isabella asked, already dreading the answer that she knew was coming.

He looked at her sheepishly. He passed her another passport, only this time she saw her own face looking back at her. 'Sarah Wilson'. Her alias. As Simon's wife.

"He said you were running away together, that you were in an abusive relationship."

"And you believe the stories of all the people that get you to make them fake identities?" Isabella scoffed.

"I don't ask questions. They come to me and I give them what they want." Leon held up his hands.

Isabella shook her head, but her anger was misdirected. She wasn't angry at this man, who'd taken in grandchildren he couldn't afford to keep in order to save them from a potentially damaging care system.

"Did he ever tell you where he was going, or where he was staying? Anything at all?" Lisbon pressed.

"No. I try to stay out of all that. I'd rather not know."

"If Simon comes, will you call me? Try to find out something." Isabella knew that this was an imposition, but at that moment she didn't care. She cared about catching the lunatic that had planned all of this, expecting her to run away with him as though this had been what she'd wanted all along.

She scribbled her number down on a piece of paper, thanked him quickly and sprinted out of the house. She needed to breathe, and couldn't do so in that tiny room. Issy blinked back tears and waited for Patrick and Lisbon to join her.

"You okay?" Lisbon asked when they'd finished up.

Isabella nodded once and they headed to the car. She looked back at the old house to find a small, chubby face peeking out of an upstairs window. Ellie waved, innocent and unknowing. Issy waved back, disheartened that the little girl had to grown up in a world of evil and darkness and hate, and knowing that she wouldn't be protected from it.

* * *

It was early afternoon by the time they had returned to the bureau. The other agents had hit a dead end after looking for any booking at an airline or hotel by a James Wilson and no one was sure what else to do.

Issy was sat on a sofa, thinking. She'd been there a while when Patrick joined her. They were silent, both consumed by their own thoughts. She was unsure how long she'd been sitting there when she started to feel tired. Her eyes drooped and head fell to the side. She was so lethargic that she didn't even realise that the hard surface she was resting on was Patrick's shoulder.

By the time Issy woke, it was nearly closing time. She sat upright, slightly embarrassed for sleeping in front of the agents, feeling something fall to the floor as she did so. Patrick's jacket. She hung it on the back of his desk chair and heard her phone ringing. She noted the unknown number, presuming Leon had something to tell her, and answered with, "Has he been?"

"Hello, Isabella."

An all too familiar voice greeted her. Issy's blood ran cold.

"Simon." She acknowledged.

"Indeed. Or you could call me James, I suppose. I know you paid dear Leon a visit. He tried to call you but he's... currently indisposed."

Van Pelt had noticed Isabella's distress and walked over to join her, offering support. Rigsby had gone to collect Lisbon and Jane from the agent's office.

"Where are you?" Isabella was angry at herself for the slight waver in her voice.

"What, so you and your little friends can come and collect me? I don't think so. If you come, you come alone or others will die. And you know that I'm not afraid to kill people that stand in my way, don't you Issy?"

She was silent. Others gathered around her, watching helplessly in wait for information.

"You're not going to be able to see me unless you answer me, Isabella."

"Where should I go?"

"How about that café you've been visiting recently. The one that the blonde took you to, what's his name, Patrick Jane? Yes, you seem to be getting on very well with him recently. Kindred spirits, I suppose." Issy turned to look at Patrick. "The charlatan turned do-gooder after the brutal murder of his wife and child. It's almost biblical."

"Fine."

"I'll see you later then, my love."

He disconnected. Isabella kept the phone to her ear for a few seconds longer, then let her arm drop limply by her side.

"He's meeting her at the café." Jane announced, collecting his jacket and starting to put it on.

"No." Issy said.

Jane stopped. "No he's not meeting you at the café?"

"No. I mean, yes he is, but you can't come. He'll kill more people. I'll go alone."

Issy walked towards the stairs. Jane followed.

"Don't be ridiculous. You'll need back up."

"What can he do to me, Patrick? He's destroyed everything I care about, so what else can he do?"

Patrick saw the resolution in her expression and resigned. Sighing, he said, "okay. He'll be watching from a vantage point in a building not far away, to make sure that we don't show. When he's convinced we're not there, he'll come and meet you."

Issy nodded and thanked him, relieved that he understood, pleading with him to check on Leon and his family. She couldn't stand anyone else dying because of her. She took the stairs two at a time.

Lisbon and the team, having witnessed the exchange, joined Patrick.

"Are we really letting her go on her own?" Lisbon asked as the others looked on in anticipation.

"No, of course not." He responded, then addressed everyone with the real plan of action.

* * *

Issy sat waiting impatiently at the same table she had previously sat at, tapping her feet and drumming her fingers. Her breathing hadn't regulated since she had heard Simons voice about an hour ago. She'd taken Patrick's words into account, parking close to the café to show that she was alone. She'd had time to think about what she would do when she saw him and still hadn't come to a conclusion. She wanted nothing more than to run and attack him, but if she wound up dead then Simon may never be caught and held accountable for his actions. She owed her family at least that.

People passed around her, some noticing her anxiety and glancing at her nervously, others obliviously continuing on with their lives. She wished that she was as lucky as they were.

The sun was low in the sky and there was still no sign of Simon. Issy analyzed all of the buildings in sight, eyes flicking between windows and doors and heart stuttering sporadically whenever one opened. She gave up after a while and stared at her hands. She didn't know why she looked up when she did - intuition, she supposed - but as she did so, Issy saw Simon exit a building opposite the café. She stood so quickly that the chair she had been sitting on clattered to the floor loudly. Isabella didn't hear it.

He grinned maniacally, strutting towards her with arms wide as if to embrace her.

What happened next almost occurred in slow motion.

"Stop where you are!" A voice rang clear.

Simon froze, a look of utter fury on his face. Isabella had never seen such piercing anger, and had to look away.

"Let me see your hands. Raise them above your head, slowly."

Simon's grin had returned as he reached towards his pocket.

"This is your last chance."

Reluctantly, his hands raised to his head and he dropped to his knees, eyes never leaving Isabella's face. Lisbon and the rest of the team closed in around him cautiously, guns raised, and it was then that Issy had realized that it was Teresa's authoritative voice that had led the charge. Isabella sank to the ground, suddenly unable to support her own weight.

The following hour passed as though it were a dream. The edges of her vision were blurred and there was a ringing in her ears that prevented her from hearing properly.

She was brought back to the CBI building in a car she didn't recognise and comforted by the agents there. Agent Lisbon approached Isabella to inform her that they would be interviewing Simon and asking if she wanted to watch. She did; she needed to hear what he had to say. Issy followed Lisbon and entered the viewing room, watching Simon through the one-way mirror.

Patrick was already in the interview room when Lisbon entered, leaning back in his chair with his arms and legs folded.

"So, Simon. Can you tell us why you murdered Richard, Samuel and Elizabeth Sanders?" He asked evenly.

Simon leant forward onto the desk, elbows on the table and cuffed hands joined together. "Well, Patrick, I murdered them so that Isabella and I could be together."

"Did she ever express that that was what she wanted?"

"It was what she wanted."

"I think you're mistaken."

"You're entitled to think that, but you would be wrong."

Patrick shook his head. "You poor deluded man. You've prevented a woman from ever seeing her husband and children again."

Simon smiled at Patrick and shrugged his shoulders. "Life is made of ever so many partings welded together."

"Dickens." Patrick noted. "Perhaps if you'd paid a little more attention to the woman you say you love than to your English lectures you might have been in for a shot." Patrick rose from his seat. "You'll have a hell of a long time to think about that in prison."

Lisbon guided Simon out of the room and through the office towards the holding cells. Issy was waiting for him.

"Ah, Issy, my love. Have you missed me?" He asked, smiling widely.

"No. I haven't. And you need to understand that there is no one on this earth that I could hate more than I hate you."

"You're angry now, I understand, but when you get over it-"

"I will never get over it! I will never be happy again, and I will never, ever see you again, as long as your pitiful life may last."

Simon scowled as Issy turned her back on him, no longer able to face such an evil man.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Simon exclaimed, struggling to escape the grip of Rigsby and Cho who now held him.

Isabella ignored him, doing exactly that.

"Stop, Isabella!"

She continued walking.

"Elizabeth cried like a baby when I cut her brother."

She froze.

"Richard wasn't even man enough to protect his kids, he just lay here." Simon scoffed. "You're 8 year old son did more to protect your family than your husband, how sickening is that?"

"That's enough." Rigsby warned, restraining Simon a little more tightly.

Isabella began to shake as Simon chuckled wickedly.

"He was pathetic. Just a useless, waste of space that wasn't worth your time, you should be so grateful."

Isabella turned back toward him, fierce hatred burning in her eyes, and landed a punch on Simon's face so hard that the break of his nose was audible to all present. He cussed loudly and Patrick winced. After a few seconds, Simon started to chuckle.

"This is perfect. You'll be arrested for assault and we can be together, just like we've always wanted."

"Assault?" Lisbon questioned. "I saw you struggle against these agents and fall onto a desk, isn't that right?"

Simon looked between the agents, who were nodding their confirmation, and watched, forlorn, as Isabella walked away from him for a second time.

"Issy, wait! Isabella?" The helplessness in his voice was almost pitiful.

"Take him away." Lisbon instructed.

He was led away by the two agents struggling uselessly against them.

Patrick found Isabella in the kitchen flexing her right hand and pacing. "That was one hell of a punch."

She looked up startled, evidently unaware he had joined her. "Yeah, it wasn't one of my best."

She looked down at it, noticing the swelling had already started. Patrick reached for a first aid kit.

"No, it's fine. It hardly hurts."

"Yeah, I'm sure it doesn't with all of that adrenaline pumping through you. Give it an hour."

He boiled the kettle, wrapping up Issy's hand clumsily with a bandage in the meantime, and offered her a cup. She declined, informing him she had to leave and thanking him for his help.

"Say thanks to the other for me?" She asked.

"Of course." He paused as though he wanted to say something. Deciding against it, he finished making his tea and said goodbye. He made his way to the sofa and sat down, sighing heavily.

"Years of love have been forgot, in the hatred of a minute." He recited, more to himself than anyone else.

* * *

It was nearing midnight and Isabella was still outside, sat on a bench facing a large pond in some random park she'd stumbled upon a few hours ago. She'd walked around blindly for a while when she had left the office, wanting to be anywhere but the confines of the hotel. She'd always loved the water and felt like she needed to be around it at this moment. She had had plenty of time to think whilst she'd been there and yet her mind was still as unclear as it had been when she set off. Her face was puffy with long ago dried out tears.

Suddenly, she felt something drop onto her shoulders. A familiar jacket housing the familiar scent that she'd grown accustomed to over the last few days.

"You know that you were diagnosed with hypothermia recently, right? The doctor told you to stay out of the cold." Patrick scolded lightly.

Issy was about to tell him that she was warm, but now that she thought about it she was freezing. She just didn't notice things like this anymore, the cold and hunger. It all seemed so irrelevant.

"How did you know where I was?"

"Well," Patrick started, "you had to have walked to wherever you were, considering you hadn't taken any money with you and your car was still in the lot. You'd want to be somewhere quiet and open, so not your hotel room. This inferred a park. You like the calming effect water has on you, and at a time like this I thought you'd appreciate that. There were only a few parks that fit that description."

Isabella shook her head, unable to comprehend his abilities.

"You used to pretend to be a psychic, right?" Patrick nodded. "Why?"

It took a while for him to answer.

"Money. Vanity. Arrogance." He shrugged. "Things that were important to me before just aren't anymore."

Issy could understand that. They were silent for a while.

"Can I ask you something?" Patrick asked.

Issy looked up at him waiting for his question.

"How do you feel. You know, now that Simon's been caught."

She thought for a second. "No different. I expected relief or happiness or... something but instead I just feel empty. Just the same as it's been since that day."

He considering this for a while.

"Well, come on then." He said standing. "You can't stay out here all night, you need to sleep."

"Yeah, right..." Issy said sceptically, knowing that sleep was as unlikely to come to her tonight as her husband was, but followed him all the same.

He drove her back to her hotel and walked her to her room. She opened the door and turned to face him, removing his jacket and handing it back to him with a smile.

"Thank you, for everything, Patrick. You've helped me so much more than you can know." She told him sincerely. "I hope that you can find happiness soon."

She reached forward and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Take care of yourself."

He hadn't expected this, and cleared his throat before speaking. "You too, Issy."

Patrick walked down the hallway a little sadly after his goodbye with Isabella. It had been refreshing, although horrendously sad considering the circumstances, to have somebody like him to converse with. She was nice and he would miss her. He hoped that now that the killer of her husband and children had been apprehended that she could move on with her life and start again. Considering her pain and deterioration, however, he expected it to be a long time before she began functioning normally again, as he knew only too well.

She smiled after him, closing the door as he began to walk away, pondering what she would do with her life now. She had no plans whatsoever, but, she thought sadly as she prepared for another restless night, she had all the time in the world to figure it out.


End file.
